


The Paris Incident

by AlisonSky



Series: Lone Hawk of Gotham [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), Hawkeye (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Assassination Attempt(s), Attempted Murder, BAMF Bobbi Morse, BAMF Clint Barton, BAMF Natasha Romanov, BAMF Selina Kyle, Black Widow Natasha Romanov, Bobbi Morse is Mockingbird, Circus Bros - Freeform, Clint Barton Feels, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Clint Barton is Hawkeye, Clint Barton is an idiot, Deaf Clint Barton, Dick Grayson is Ric Grayson, Gen, Hurt Clint Barton, Past Clint Barton/Bobbi Morse, Poisoning, SHIELD Agent Clint Barton, Selina Kyle is Catwoman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:13:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24085666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlisonSky/pseuds/AlisonSky
Summary: SHIELD gets word about a possible Hydra assassination plot against Bruce Wayne while he's recovering from his battle against Bane in Paris. Coulson sends Clint to deal with it, including orders to take out the assassin.This is Clint Barton. Of course, this is anything but a simple kill order. Why'd Hydra have to send a redhead?
Relationships: Clint Barton & Bruce Wayne, Clint Barton & Dick Grayson, Clint Barton/Bobbi Morse, Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne
Series: Lone Hawk of Gotham [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664209
Comments: 74
Kudos: 71





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint has his mission, but he has to make a stop before he leaves. He ends up running into an old friend and catching up.

Ric Grayson sat on the kitchen island, a bowl of corn flakes in one hand, spoon in the other. He watched as his best friend, Clint Barton, sat on the floor counting arrowheads. “So, let me get this straight; Bane, the guy who took over Gotham, is sending someone from an evil organization called Hydra to kill Bruce Wayne?”

“Yup.” Clint held up an arrow shaft, staring down the length to make sure it was straight. “That’s about the sum of it.”

“And since you happen to have a hand in both worlds, so to speak, you’re the best operative for the job.” Ric took another spoonful of cereal and then talked around it. “Not sure if that’s a good thing.”

“It’s all part of the job. Plus, who am I to turn down a free trip to Paris?” Clint rolled up the fabric case with his trick arrow parts. “You going to be alright with me heading out for a few weeks?”

“I’m capable of taking care of myself, you know,” Ric said.

Clint looked over at his best friend, short hair spiked up, grease still on the edges of his eyes, and his boxers turned inside out. “... Sure.”

Ric followed Clint’s line of sight, then shrugged. “I promise not to do anything too stupid.” Clint gave him a look. “I’ve got four other  Nightwings who have my back.” Clint’s eyebrow rose. “I promise not to die?”

Clint shook his head. “Maybe I should ask Jason to come babysit you.”

“I’m sure Bea will do it for free,” Ric pointed out.

“That poor woman.”

Ric’s phone started to beep. He pulled it out of his pocket and sighed. “Need to go in early,” he explained as he put his bowl into the sink.

“You’ll still pick me up at six for my flight, right?” Clint asked.

Walking back to the bedroom area, Ric signed  _ yes _ before disappearing behind the wall. Clint laughed and shouted after him, “Take a shower, Cabbie!”

Having a few hours to spare before his flight, Clint decided to grab lunch at the Prodigal Bar. Bea Bennett was just leaving the booths with a few empty glasses when she saw Clint. Her brown eyes noticed Clint and lit up, her infectious smile making Clint instantly feel better. “Clint, I thought you were leaving tonight,” she said, quickly setting the glasses down before enveloping him in a hug.

“I am. Just figured I’d stop by and leave you a list of emergency numbers and instructions while you’re babysitting Ric for me.” Clint hugged her back, and when she pulled away, he started to slide onto a barstool. 

“Uh, before you sit, there’s someone here to see you.” Bea jerks her thumb in the direction. “Usually she comes to check up on Ric, but she’s been asking about you.”

“Oh?” Clint wasn’t sure what to make of that. He slipped his hands into his jacket pockets, fingers finding the throwing darts embedded between the layers of fabric. All he had to do was squeeze his fingers together as he pulled his hands out of the jacket and he’d have eight throwing darts ready to throw.

Bea nodded. “Want me to get you your usual?”

“Yeah, that’d be great.” Clint gave her a nod, the smile still on his face but his eyes serious as he turned to walk along the wall of private booths. 

It doesn’t take him long to find who was there for him. He’d recognize that head of red hair anywhere. “Barbara Gordon. What’s a good girl like you doing in a city like this?”

Barbara looked up from her phone and smiled. “I should be asking you the same question, Clint. You disappeared without a trace five years ago. And I looked... hard. And now you’re back in town like nothing happened and don’t even call to say hi?”

Clint shrugged his shoulders. “I wasn’t sure if you changed your number.”

“Still an ass.” Barbara shifted, sliding out of the booth and standing up. 

Clint’s eyes widened and he took a step back. “Wait, what? When did  you...? I thought...”

“ So, I take it Dick never told you about this.” Barbara smiled and threw her arms around Clint’s neck, pulling him down to hug her. 

“He and I didn’t talk a lot over the last five years,” Clint said as he hugged her back tightly. “Looks like I need to catch up on.”

“Same here. Want to join me for a drink?”

Releasing her, Clint nodded. “Sure. I was just grabbing lunch before heading out of town for a bit.”

“You’re leaving?” They both sat back down in the booth, and Barbara moved her phone back to her laptop bag.

“For like, two weeks. Work trip.” Clint shrugged out of his jacket and relaxed into his seat. “Then I’ll be back.”

“Work trip?” Barbara wrapped her hands around her tea. “You’re not still doing... what you were doing before you left?”

Clint bit his lip, and Barbara looked at him over her glasses. He held up his hands. “Okay, I’m not doing that job specifically, but I can’t really tell you about what I actually do. It’s classified.”

Barbara watched him for a moment, then shrugged. “I’ll take that, for now.”

While they talked, Bea brought Clint’s food and a large mug of coffee over to the table and retreated. Clint watched Barbara’s face carefully, looking to see what she thought of Ric’s girlfriend. When Bea was gone, he leaned in. “She takes good care of Ric. You’d like her.”

“She seems nice, but she’s not what I imagined he’d go for,” Barbara said. 

Clint started counting off on his  fingers, “Well , she is smart, kind, cares about her city, can kick a man’s ass six ways from Sunday...”

“She’s not a redhead,” Barbara pointed out. 

Clint blinked, then laughed. “Alright, you got me there.”

Barbara wrapped her hands around her mug of tea. “How is he?” she finally asked.

There were a lot of ways Clint could unbox that question, but he didn’t want to reveal too much to out Ric, but at the same time, he knew that his best friend would always love Barbara Gordon. “He’s actually doing pretty well. He likes his job, for the most part. We’ve got a few regulars at the gym these days, including a teenager who remembers him as a Flying Grayson and practically hero-worships him.”

“Aw, that’s adorable,” Barbara said with a smile.

Clint nods. “He tells the kid all these stories while helping him work the parallel bars. For all the pain in how he lost them, Ric loves talking about his time in the circus.”

“You’ve gotten very comfortable calling him Ric.” Barbara shook her head. “I still find it so hard to do that.”

“Well, I’m lucky that if I  slip up, I can easily turn it into Dickey and get away with it.”

“He actually lets you call him Dickey?”

“It’s a childhood nickname. I’m probably the only one he’d let get away with it, so don’t try.” 

Bea returned with a refill for Barbara’s tea without any prompting. She smiled at them both, a hand tracing Clint’s shoulder before going back to the bar. Clint started eating his food as Barbara fixed her tea.

“Does he remember anything yet?” Barbara asked as she blew on her tea before taking a sip.

Clint mused on it while eating his chicken wing. “Consciously, no. He’s still stuck at the night of his folk’s death.”

Barbara looked at him. “But subconsciously?”

“This stays between you and me, alright?” Barbara nodded, and Clint continued. “He’s got all the muscle memory of his former life. Every now and then, he’ll say something that he wouldn’t have known at twelve. Like, he mentioned that Jason and I would get along out of the blue.”

“Is that why Jason was at Dick’s cave the night you got gassed?” Barbara leaned in, lowering her voice. “If Jason has been hanging around Di- Ric, Bruce is going to be livid.”

“Yeah, well Bruce can deal.” Clint willed his shoulders to relax at the mention of Bruce Wayne. “Jason was the one who brought me in to help, and honestly, Ric needed it. He wasn’t alone in the world if I was there.”

“How did Ric take meeting Jason?”

Clint shrugged. “They didn’t try to kill each other?”

Barbara snorted. “Well, that’s a good sign.”

“I remember Jason from back when I lived with Dick in New York. We have a lot in common.” Clint reached for another chicken wing. “And I’ve been trying to slowly steer Ric into giving all of you a second chance. Not there just yet, but since Jason wasn’t at the manor when Ric got the whirlwind tour of the basement, Ric was a bit more receptive to talking to him.”

“Damian really misses him,” Barbara said. “He doesn’t say it, of course. He’s a teenage brat. But Dick was the first person who treated him like a person when he came to live here. He looks up to Dick, and not having his brother and role model there...”

“It makes you forget your own place in a family.” Clint was quiet a moment. “I’ve been there.”

“It also hurts Bruce. I mean, Dick was his very first son. They fought like cats and dogs most of the time, but there’s a lot of love between the cracks.” Barbara licked her lips. “He tracked down the shooter and nearly killed the man. Now he just stares at Dick’s suit in the cave and you smothered in his guilt.”

Clint sighed, pushing his food to the side for the moment, his appetite gone. “Listen, I don’t want you to get your hopes up, Babsey--”

“Wow, no one’s called me that in forever,” Barbara said with a laugh.

“Point is,” Clint continued, a hint of a smile on his lips, “I don’t know who Dick became in the last five years, but I know my best friend better than himself. He’s still in there. He wants to do the right thing, jumps recklessly into dangerous situations, wants to help people and make everyone happy, and loves with his heart on his sleeve.”

Barbara smiled. “Yeah, that’s him.”

“Even if the memories never come back, he’s still the man you all love. And Ric Grayson is a damn good man. I think you’d like him.”

“I guess I should introduce myself to him then,” Barbara said, looking into her tea. “It’s just so hard...”

Clint reached across to take one of her hands in his. “I know. But you’re a badass,  Babsey . You can do this. For Dick.”

“For Dick.” She nodded, then pulled back to wipe tears from her eyes.

“So, anything else you’re curious about?” Clint asked as he pulled his food back in front of him.

“Actually, yes.” Barbara reached into her bag and pulled out a newspaper clipping of the  Nightwings . “Care to explain this?”

Clint laughed. “Oh, that’s a long story.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the second story in the Lone Hawk series! This one is going to be Clint-centric and will have limited time with Dick/Ric Grayson. And yes, this is going to be the origin story of Clint & Natasha for this world, so you're going to want to subscribe to not miss a thing!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint, along with his ex-wife Bobbi, are staking out the skylight leading to where Bruce is staying with Selina Kyle. Enter the redheaded female assassin, Natasha, with a gun. Clint goes to fight Nat and almost has her when Catwoman shows up.
> 
> Things don't go as planned after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've gotten my first piece of fanart EVER! Thank you Crazybunnyfangirl for [this wonderful piece of Jason babysitting Ric.](https://www.deviantart.com/crazybunnyfangirl/art/inCollage-20200510-142712395-841251358) <3
> 
> Quick info for those not familiar with Clint & Bobbi -> they got married in Atlantic City after meeting during an investigation Clint was on after quitting the Avengers (see Hawkeye's 1983 miniseries). Coincidently, this is the original story for how Clint lost his hearing before they retconned his backstory. It was a spur of the moment marriage, and they fell out a few years later while in West Coast Avengers, but then stuff with Skrulls and House of M and everyone "dying" and yeah, anyway. This story doesn't exist in the MCU universe, but this is my world so who cares about exactly following canon, right?

_ One Week Later... _

Clint lay on the rooftop to the west of the abandoned building that Bruce Wayne and Selina Kyle were squatting in. His binoculars were trained on the single skylight that Selina exited from every night to get supplies... or other treasures. It had been over ten years since Clint had last seen  Catwoman at work, and he could see she hadn’t lost a single step in the cat  burglar game.

He would know. Clint spent a few years involved with the circus of crime’s petty theft arm of the troupe. He actually hadn’t minded that level of thievery back when he was a dumb kid—it was always from people who had too much money already and could get their money back from their insurance. At least that was how the Swordsman had explained it to him, and now as a dumb adult, he saw the truth in how that system worked. He had no regrets about those days.

It was the large-scale crimes that involved guns and destruction to get the money that he had issues with. Issues that almost killed him, and would have if Bruce and Dick hadn’t intervened on his behalf. 

“Clint, are you asleep again?” the voice of his ex-wife, Bobbi Morse, came through his earbud. 

“I’m awake,” Clint replied, taking another look through the binoculars. 

“Just checking. You haven’t tried to crack a joke in almost an hour.”

“I thought you hated my jokes.” Clint smiled, imagining the frustrated face Bobbi would be making from their safehouse. She was probably in her under armor, her blonde hair up in a messy bun, a cup of coffee at her elbow, and scrunching her nose up at his comment.

“I don’t hate all of them.”

“I made up a new one while jogging.” He cleared his throat. “After an explosion at a French cheese factory… all that was left was De Brie”

Bobbi’s groan only made Clint smile more. “That was horrible, Clint.”

“But it’s still funny.”

Movement on the roof made Clint jerk back to his full attention as he watched the skylight open and Selina slip out in her black latex bodysuit. “Cat’s out of the bag,” he informed his partner, voice all business.

“I see her on the thermal,” Bobbi replied. “Now we just sit and wait.”

“Do you see our friend’s heat signature yet?”

Bobbi didn’t reply immediately. “I don’t see anyone for five blocks on the rooftops.”

“Good. I need to stretch quickly and pee.” Clint army-crawled away from the edge of the rooftop and didn’t stop until he was tucked behind the air conditioner unit. Already four hours into his twelve-hour stakeout shift, the cold night breeze made his bones ache. Ever since the accident, changes in the weather wreaked havoc on his body. Further injuries hadn’t made it any better, so Clint made sure he stretched every few hours to warm his muscles up and get the ache out of his bones.

“I’ll keep watch,” Bobbi said. 

“Of the skylight, or of me?” Clint quickly peed in the small bucket that he had brought up three days ago. It was a weird habit of his—in case he got jumped, he could retreat to the corner with the bucket and give his opponent a golden shower as a distraction. 

“I can do both. This drone gives me three square blocks.”

Clint finished and moved to rush through a series of stretches for his arms, legs, and back. “You know, if someone listened in on us, they’d totally think you were a government agent spying on them.”

Bobbi laughed. “And instead I just like watching my ex stretch out that gorgeous body of his.”

“You and half the world.”

When Bobbi went silent, Clint stood up quickly. “Baby? You there?”

“Heat signature coming in fast from the north. Smaller than the Cat.”

Clint reached behind him and pulled out his bow, snapping it into its full extension. “Match our new friend?”

“Stature and stride indicate yes. You need to get eyes on to confirm.”

“Got it.” Stretching forgotten, Clint crawled back to his binoculars and watched the buildings from the north. The shadow jumped between rooftops, and a streetlight revealed a trail of red hair behind the assassin. “Female form, redhead, matches body profile.”

“You in position?”

“I am. Engage on visual confirmation?”

“Yes.”

Clint pulled an arrow from his quiver and readied it. The binoculars on the roof, he used the scope on his bow to follow the shadow. One roof away, and then he cursed. “Target wearing full face mask. I can only make out her eyes.”

“Hold position.”

Clint lifted into a kneeling position, arm fully extended back and his hand at his ear. The air conditioning unit would keep him in shadows—the whole reason he chose the spot—so he wasn’t worried about being made now. He tracked the path of the redhead only the building where Bruce was, a soft growl when she stopped and inched to the skylight. 

He tenses when he caught the glint of a gun in the light coming up from the glass ceiling window. “Target has a gun and approaching entrance. Permission to engage?”

“Engage. If you confirm target as Widow, you have your kill order.”

Clint barely let Bobbi get two words out before he let his arrow fly, already notching the second one as the first struck the gun, knocking it from the assassin’s hand. Her head whipped to his rooftop as Clint let the second arrow fly. This one slashed along the woman’s shoulder as she dodged out of the way.

While the assassin pressed herself against a steam pipe, Clint took off at a run to jump between the rooftops. As he leaped, he saw the throwing knife aimed at his head and batted it out of the way with the bow before tucking and rolling onto the roof in a painless landing. He found a third arrow and was bringing it to aim when the woman appeared out of the shadows and cut at his bowstring before aiming a kick at his head.

_ Damn, she’s fast _ , Clint thought as he ducked under her foot and tried to sweep her other leg out from under her. They performed a deadly dance across the rooftop—she with her knife and Clint with his backup crossbow between hand-to-hand exchanges. When they reached the edge, the woman looked behind her, then jumped back into the gap between buildings.

Clint rushed to look over the edge and saw the woman flipping from window to window, crisscrossing the alley with each jump. “Target is fleeing. I’m in pursuit.”

“Be careful, Clint. You don’t know if she’s leading you into a trap,” Bobbi warned in his ear.

“Then your drone better  keep up.” He hooked his bow to his back, then grabbed a toy he had “borrowed” from Ric. The grapple gunshot across the alley as he jumped, swinging down the alley far enough to catch the target halfway down by her leg. “Gotcha.”

“ _ Neit _ ,” the assassin replied, and Clint lost his grip of the grappler when a throwing knife embedded itself into his shoulder. 

They both fell the last ten feet into the alley. Clint pulled the knife out and stood up, throwing it behind him as he reached for his own military knife, smirking. The assassin’s face covering had fallen off, and Clint was staring into the green eyes of the Black Widow.

“Target confirmed,” he told Bobbi before rushing forward to execute his order. 

The Widow had wrenched her ankle in the fall, and Clint was quick to take advantage of it. He felt he had the upper hand when the Widow launched herself at him. Before he knew it, her legs were around his neck and she was using her momentum to knock him onto the ground.

She had no idea Clint could counter her signature move. Clint and Bobbi spent time training on that particular attack, and there was only one way to  nullify it, and it had to have perfect timing. Before she dropped her body again to pull him down, Clint had to spring himself backward in a flip in the opposite direction. 

It wasn’t graceful, and he wasn’t going to land on his feet, but he was going to land on top of the Widow. He quickly rocketed his arms between her thighs before she thought to squeeze his neck and pinned her to the alley floor with his own, heavier body.

“Sorry, sweetheart, that move doesn’t work on me.” He reached for his knife on the ground, but before he could grab it, there was a  _ CRACK _ in the air and a whip wrapped around his wrist.

Clint looked over his shoulder to see  Catwoman standing there, her satchel across her body and whip in her hand. “No means no, asshole,” Catwoman stated, pulling her whip back to drag Clint off the Black Widow.

“Seriously?” Clint landed on his back hard, then quickly unwrapped his wrist. “You have no idea what’s going on.”

“Guy with a knife on top of a beautiful woman in an alley? I know enough.”  Catwoman cracked her whip again to her side. “Go,” she told the Black Widow, who took off running. Clint growled and made to follow, but the whip wrapped around his neck, and  Catwoman pulled him back hard. “Oh no, you’re not going anywhere.”

“Clint, what’s happening?” Bobbi’s frantic voice was in his ear. He tried to reply, but the whip was cutting off his air supply and he dug his fingers into the leather to pulling back enough to get a breath.

Catwoman kept him on a tight leash as she walked in front of him. “I think I’m going to give you a personal lesson on respecting a woman.”

Clint shook his head, fighting to speak. “Wrong. Person.”

“Oh, I’m sure you were just trying to save her from a bad, bad world.”  Catwoman kicked him in the chest, sending Clint onto his back. What breath he had left came out in a gasp, and he started to see black spots in his vision. 

“Clint, talk to me! What’s going on?” Bobbi was shouting, but his ears were starting to ring.

He managed to get a tiny intake of air. “No. Bruce... danger...” he gasped out. 

Catwoman stilled at that, then crouched down next to his head. “What was that? What about Bruce?”

The black spots were getting larger, and he tried to figure out how to let  Catwoman know he was on their side. “Batman,” he croaked out before the blackness enveloped him.

Bobbi was going to be pissed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint is interrogated, and some hidden secrets are revealed.

There were two things wrong when Clint woke up. First, he was blind. Second, he was deaf—and not in the typical he had been deaf since he was six, but in the way that he knew his hearing aids were out of his ear.

He stayed silent as he flexed his muscles one at a time, checking for injuries. He felt pain from the shoulder he had taken the knife with, and his shoulders and back weren’t too happy at the fall he had taken into the alley. Oh yeah, and his throat was just a big circular area of flaming irritation.

If his hearing aides were out, he could only assume they were destroyed or their signal was being back-traced. There was a failsafe in them to kill the connection if they were removed from his ear, but someone with strong tech skills could fool the system if they wanted to.

Clint squinted his eyes, trying to determine if he was blindfolded or hooded. No fabric rubbed the bridge of his nose, so he figured it was a hood. His arms were tied behind his back, but he wasn’t secured to a chair, and his legs were unsecured. It wasn’t hard for him to pull the concealed razor from the lining of his armor where his wrists rested and slowly cut at the ropes.

All in all, he wasn’t in a hard situation to escape from. Of course, that was all determined by who was on the other side of the hood. He groaned, letting them know he was awake, but he wouldn’t be able to hear their reply. He had twenty percent of his hearing on his left side, but he would only be able to make out noises, not any actual words.

He felt the chair shake a moment later and he sighed. “I can’t hear you,” he said, trying to keep his voice level. Clint knew if he didn’t stay calm, his voice would automatically go up in volume since he couldn’t hear it.

“Why were you attacking that woman in the alley?”  Catwoman’s voice spoke almost directly in his “good” ear. Clint was glad to know it hadn’t taken any damage. 

“She was an assassin sent to murder Bruce Wayne.” Clint lifted his head, knowing that somewhere in the room, Bruce was watching them. 

“And how do you know that?”

“Because I was the one assigned to keep that from happening.” Clint took a deep breath. “My badge is in my inner chest pocket, right side.”

Clint felt hands unzip his armored vest, then reach into the pocket inside the thermal layer under it. The billfold was removed, then all touching and sound disappeared again. He waited another minute, then sighed. “If you’re talking, I really can’t hear you.”

The hood was ripped off Clint’s head and he squinted at the lamplight that was aimed at him. “Wow, full interrogation setup. I haven’t had one of these in  a while .”

There was a slap to the back of his head, and Clint looked up to see  Catwoman walk in front of him, staying to the side of the light. Clint couldn’t see anything beyond the light, and he was willing to bet that’s where Bruce was watching.

Creeper.

He looked up at  Catwoman and saw that her lips were moving. He missed the first half of the sentence, but got the “... to find us?”

“Listen, it would be a lot easier for you to interrogate me if I had my hearing aids, unless you know sign language. It’s hard to lip read when you may have a concussion.”

Catwoman looked over her shoulder, then went to the table and picked up one of the earbuds. As she strode over, Clint moved his hands in front of him, holding his hand out for the earbud.  Catwoman glared at him, seeing the razor in his other hand, and Clint just smiled.

“Trade you?”

Instead of approaching, she tossed the earbud at him. Clint caught it and slid the device back into his ear canal. The inflatable lining started to spread, covering the inner canal of his ear with a tight fit so it wouldn’t fall out during combat.

He pressed on the device from under his ear and sound rushed back at him, followed quickly by Bobbi’s voice. “Clint? Is that you? Where are you?”

“I’m fine, Mockingbird,” Clint said, earning another glare from Catwoman. “I’m with friendlies.”

“If you don’t need backup, tell me what I wore on our wedding day,” she ordered.

“A smile,” he replied, his own lips turning up in the hint of a smile. “I promise, I’m ok. I’ll contact you when I’m done here.” He turned the microphone off since he wasn’t about to ruin the secret identities on either side of the connection.

“Who was that?”  Catwoman asked, her arms crossed.

“My partner. She gets nervous when I go silent.” His eyes were getting used to the bright light, so he took a quick look around him. There was a kitchen behind him, and the lamp in front of him. “Cozy place you have here.”

“Let’s skip past the jokes and get to where you start explaining just exactly who you are, why you’re here, and who that assassin was?”

Clint leaned back in his chair. “You don’t recognize me, do you?”

Catwoman eyed him, her patience running thin. “And just how would I have known you?”

“Back when I lived at Wayne Manor.” Clint huffed a laugh. “Though I was mostly covered in bandages and plaster back then.”  Catwoman pushed her cowl back, and Selina now looked at him. Clint held his hands out to his sides. “I’m better now.”

“You were Richard’s friend. The one from the circus who fell off the tightrope,” she said slowly.

“Got it in one.” Clint tried to look past the light. “I’m surprised he didn’t tell you that when you brought me here.”

Selina didn’t bother to pretend that Bruce wasn’t hiding behind the light, but she moved back into Clint’s line of sight. “So, Agent Barton, it looks like you moved up in the world from circus boy. You still owe me an explanation on why there’s an assassin out for Bruce, and how you found out where we were.”

Clint took his time, explaining about Bane making a deal with Hydra. Their agents had spied Selina and because of the known history had planted a bug in the room. Selina’s eyes instantly went to sweep the room, looking for it.

“Oh, it was deactivated already. My first night here, I slipped in while you were both asleep and cleared the room of the devices.”

“You couldn’t have. I rigged alarms on the skylight,” Selina stated.

“I disabled that too. It’s a good system, but has an older operating system.” Clint shrugged. “I reset it and turned it back on when I left. I wasn’t going to take the chance of being noticed.”

“And the redhead you were fighting...?”

“The assassin. Code name Black Widow. She’s a Russian assassin from Hydra’s Red Room program.”

“I know the name,” Selina tapped her chin with a finger, her head tilted to look behind the light. “And why would your organization choose you, of all the agents, to take on this case? You’ve stayed with the Wayne’s, so doesn’t that make you compromised?”

“Not how SHIELD operates.” Clint stood to stretch his back out, relieved that Selina didn’t move into a defensive pose.  _ Good, she believes he is an ally.  _ “They know when to hold us back, and when the connection to the case works in favor of either the agent or the mission. In this case, it’s both.”

“And how’s that?”

“They compared my skills with the Widow and I’m the best match for her talents. As for the compromised part...” Clint approached and turned off the lamp. Sitting directly behind it was a shirtless Bruce Wayne, bandages on his chest and neck, staring up at Clint with an expressionless face. “That’s simple... I’m his son.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, for those of you who were wondering, Clint IS the adopted son of Bruce Wayne in this 'verse. There's a whole prequel story that will explain it. 
> 
> Only a handful of people actually know this: Clint, Bruce, Alfred, Dick (but not Ric), Leslie Thompkins, Nick Fury, Coulson, Bobbi, and a few lawyers and doctors with signed nondisclosure agreements. So, for those looking back at the last story: Ric, Jason, Tim, and Damian are all unaware that Clint is their adopted brother.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Selina and Bobbi bond. Bruce and Clint dance around the elephant in the room.

Clint stood in Selina’s kitchen with a warm cup of coffee while Selina and Bruce were having a whispered argument. He’d be lying if he didn’t say that it amused him, but he also knew Bruce was the world’s best secret keeper since he never told anyone anything unless he wanted them to know.

Their argument was interrupted as the skylight opened above them. Selina grabbed her whip as Clint pulled a knife out of the butcher block. He relaxed, though, as Bobbi slipped down in her Mockingbird outfit. “She’s with me,” Clint said as he approached his ex-wife.

Bobbi reached out to check Clint’s bandaged shoulder, broken nose, and his bruised neck. “I’m ok,” he promised her, his voice getting better from the gravelly tone he had before.

“You were stupid,” she told him as she pressed on his ribs, narrowing her eyes as Clint winced as they got near his stomach. “What were you thinking, jumping off the rooftop like that? You’re not in the circus anymore!”

“Oh, come on babe, I had the grappler.”

“And you’re not Dick either.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close. “Don’t scare me like that again, Clint.”

Clint closed his eyes and hugged her back, soaking in the affection Bobbi always gave freely to him—married or not. “You know I can’t promise that, but I’ll try.”

When they pulled apart, Clint turned to see Selina and Bruce watching them with curious expressions. He resisted the urge to stiffen back up; it was an old habit when Bruce gave him that look. Bobbi quickly took a step back, but Clint grabbed her hand. “Selina, Bruce, this is my partner, Mockingbird.”

“But you can call me Bobbi.” She held out her hand, which Selina shook with a smile. Bruce did the same, nodding to her before looking at Clint.

“You two are close,” he stated, digging for more information.

Clint looked at Bobbi—she was one of the very few that knew his true backstory—and she nodded. “Bobbi is also my ex-wife.”

Bruce’s eyes widened, taking in the blonde woman. “Ex?”

“Have you tried to live with him?” Bobbi teased. “He’s a mess, and that’s on a good day.”

“And yet you were completely perfect,” Clint said in retaliation.

“Naturally.” She winked at Clint, then looked up at Bruce. “I never thought I would get to actually meet you, Mister Wayne. Clint tends to be very tight-lipped about his years in Gotham.”

“That so?” Bruce returned his gaze to Clint, who just rose an eyebrow.

“You swore me to secrecy, and I kept it,” Clint stated. “I’m good at keeping secrets.”

“And that’s why you’re a spy,” Selina asked, lounging on the couch behind Bruce. “I never knew there was a fifth boy in your little collection of orphans, Bats.”

“Guess that makes me the black sheep.”

“No, Jason is the black sheep,” Selina pointed out.

Clint shrugged. “Jason is more of a red sheep.”

Bobbi put a hand on Clint’s shoulder. “We should leave the family reunion for later, and focus on the mission,” she told him.

“You said his favorite word,” Selina said with a smile. “I assume you two have a plan.”

Clint looked at Bobbi and smiled. “Widow knows my face,” he said.

“I wore my mask to prevent that,” Bobbi said. “What are you thinking?”

“How about ‘the Audrey’?”

Bobbi laughed. “You just want to see me in the dress.”

“I always want to see you in that dress.”

Bruce huffed. “What is ‘the Audrey’?”

Bobbi looked at him, then focused on Selina. “It’s the plan where you boys sit back and relax while the girls kick some ass.”

“Oh, I like her.” Selina walked over and linked arms with Bobbi. “So, tell me more about this plan.”

Selina and Bobbi left, weaving their way through the building and out the back door on the first floor. Clint sat at the kitchen counter, sipping his coffee and flipping through the Starkpad Bobbi had brought for him. He sent Coulson the status update on the mission and was now distracting himself by rereading the Widow’s file so he didn’t have to address the elephant-sized bat in the room.

He was aware of when Bruce returned from taking a shower and headed to the coffee maker. Bruce leaned against the kitchen counter, watching Clint but saying nothing. The silence was only broken when Clint’s phone vibrated. He reached into his pocket and chuckled at the image of Ric and Bea sitting on a bench in the snow. He quickly sent a reply with a smiley face and a reminder to make good choices.

“How is he?” Bruce asked.

Clint looked up to see Bruce looking at his phone screen. He sighed and opened up the picture, then slid the phone across the table to Bruce. “Better. He’s focusing less on feeling lost and more on who he wants to become.”

“And the woman?”

“Bea. She owns a bar that we frequent.” Clint turned off the Starkpad and wrapped his hands around his coffee. “She’s perfect for him.”

Bruce nodded, staring at the photo. Clint watched the man’s face, seeing a hint of emotion in his eyes. For a moment, there were tears forming before they were blinked away. “He looks happy.”

“He is.” Clint sighed, rubbing his face. “You really screwed up pushing the life on him. What the hell were you thinking?”

“I needed him to remember who he was.” Bruce didn’t lift his eyes from the picture of Ric and Bea. “He... you don’t know how it felt to see him look at you and not remember anything.”

“No, I don’t,” Clint said, letting his tension fade. “But just because he remembers me doesn’t mean that I didn’t lose him too.” Standing, Clint went to refill his coffee. “Dick and I had three winters before his parents died. A lot of our real connection came afterward, and that’s gone right now.”

“How do you deal with it, then?”

“Like an adult,” Clint stated. “He leads, I support, and we take his journey of self-discovery together.”

Bruce frowned and slid the phone back to Clint. “He had a life; a good life.”

“And he still does.” Clint flipped to another photo, a selfie of him and Ric in the gym. Ric was upside-down on the hanging rings, smiling, as Clint stood below with the camera aimed up to get them both in the shot. They had been sparring and were still laughing at the ridiculous moves they tried to create to show each other up. Clint won in the end, and this was the victory shot.

The phone slid back to Bruce, who looked down at it. His face softened at the image. “Have you told him?”

“Told him what?” Clint asked.

Bruce didn’t look up. “About what happened in Nebraska.”

Clint took a deep breath, willing his shoulders to relax. Nebraska was one of those topics he hated discussing. “I told him the basics when he asked how I know Jason.”

“But not that I adopted you, and that you’re actual brothers now.”

Slamming his hands on the island, Clint stood up and glared at Bruce. “We were always brothers, and you know that! You just made it legal in the eyes of the law after you finally decided to adopt Dick properly.”

Bruce lifted his eyes to meet Clint’s glare. “How about Jason? Does he know?”

“No,” Clint growled. “And before you ask, I haven’t told Babs, Tim, or Damian either.”

“When did you meet Damian?” Bruce’s voice dropped into his Batman voice, but Clint wasn’t intimidated.

“He stalked me when I arrived in Gotham—wanting to make sure Dick would be safe in my care.”

Bruce huffed and nodded. “Dick and Damian are close. He took it hard when Dick lost the memories of him.”

Clint wanted to know more about Damian—where he came from, for instance—when the women returned to the apartment. Selina and Bobbi were laughing like old friends, garment bags over their shoulders while carrying shopping bags in their free hands.

“Oh, this doesn’t bode well,” Clint said as he stood, taking his phone back and sliding it into his pocket.

“No, it doesn’t,” Bruce echoed as they joined the women in the living room. “It looks like you ladies enjoyed borrowing my credit card.”

“You shouldn’t leave your wallet out if you don’t want me to borrow it,” Selina stated, running her fingers under Bruce’s chin.

“At least it wasn’t my card. I’m pretty sure Coulson gave me a max limit of three hundred bucks,” Clint said as he helped take Bobbi’s garment bag. “Not enough for you to even buy a pair of shoes in this city.”

“Well, if you didn’t give out most of our expense account to homeless kids as cash, Coulson would trust you more with money.” Bobbi kissed Clint’s cheek. “Even if I do find that part of you admirable.”

“We also brought back lunch.” Selina settled her bags on the couch, then pulled a cloth bag out of one. She laid a baguette, a few blocks of cheese, grapes, and a sausage.

After they ate, the group relaxed with coffee and tea around the living room table. “We need to come up with a plan,” Bruce stated. “This Black Widow will try again tonight.”

“Not here,” Clint countered. “She knows we have eyes on the skylight, and I was getting the upper hand before we were interrupted.”

Selina smiled around her teacup. “You would have done it too,” she stated.

“So, we work the case, figure out where she’s hiding, and take the fight to her.” Bruce put his mug down.

“You are not healed enough to fight,” Selina pointed out.

“I can handle one woman.”

“This isn’t one woman,” Clint said. “The Widow is a highly trained killing machine on several countries most-wanted lists. She’ll know how to cover her tracks, so it won’t be as easy as shaking down a few thugs for an address.”

“Hey, I’m the detective here, Clint—”

“And I’m the trained assassin, Bruce.” Clint locked eyes with the other man. “You don’t kill. I do. It’s a line you won’t cross, and because of that, you can never fully understand the mind of a killer.”

Bobbi put her hand on Clint’s shoulder, trying to calm him down as Selina did the same with Bruce. “You two can work your issues out later,” Bobbi said. “Selina and I have already figured out a way to lure the Widow out of hiding and end this.”

“When were you going to tell me?” Clint asked.

“I’m telling you now.”

“So, what’s your big plan?”

Bobbi smiled at him. She reached behind them and pulled one of the garment bags off the couch. “Well, it starts with this.”

She unzipped the bag. Clint looked inside, then back up at Bobbi and pouted. “No, please no.”

“Sorry, honey. We did it your way, now we do it mine.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint has a plan. It was a good plan. But then he changed the plan, and well... let's just say Bobbi's going to have a lot of strong words aimed at her ex-husband.
> 
> If he survives.

“I look ridiculous.”

“You do not look ridiculous.”

Clint tugged at the collar of his turtleneck. He sat at the bar of a French restaurant he had no idea how to pronounce, sipping a whiskey while watching the rest of the place through the mirror behind the bar. He was in a suit jacket and pants, and Clint felt the turtleneck was just a hair better than a button-down shirt and tie.

Bobbi had chosen the outfit to hide his bruises. It worked, and Clint was still able to carry a gun, knife, and a few throwing stars without notice. The jacket would limit his arm movement, but once removed, he’d have complete mobility for a fight. As much as he hated dressing up, Clint couldn’t complain about the clothes his ex-wife picked out for him.

It was the fact they insisted he dye his hair black that annoyed him.

“Why did I have to do this again?” Clint complained, running his fingers through his hair.

“Because the majority of men in the area have dark hair,” Bobbi answered from her spot outside. She, along with Bruce and Selina, were waiting in line for a table. Bruce wasn’t flaunting his name, so they weren’t getting preferential treatment. “Widow saw you as a blonde, so she may look past you at the bar with dark hair.”

“You look handsome, Clint,” Selina purred over the coms. “I happen to find dark-haired men attractive.”

“You’re only saying that because Bruce is next to you,” Clint stated, and he didn’t need to look at the mirror to know Bruce was glaring at his back.

“True. You also look a lot more like his son this way.” Selina chuckled when they all heard Clint choke on his drink. “I mean, Bruce does have a habit of adopting dark-haired boys with blue eyes.”

“You know, I’ve noticed that. But wasn’t Jason originally a redhead?”

“Let’s keep the coms clear,” Bruce stated, his voice stern.

Bobbi laughed. “You have never worked a S.H.I.E.L.D. operation. If Clint isn’t talking, we’re in trouble.”

Clint smiled. God, he loved that woman.

He was about to reply when he saw the hostess approach Bruce, and soon the trio was led to a table near the corner of the restaurant. Bruce settled into the corner, removing him from sightlines through the windows and front door. It was their plan to force the Widow to come inside. Clint had sightlines to all the entrances from his barstool, and the ladies placed themselves with clear views out the windows.

If they were lucky, it would be a nice dinner date, and someone would bring Clint home a doggy bag. But Clint knew he and luck weren’t on the best of terms—proven as the red-haired assassin entered the restaurant in a black dress that was painted on her.

“Target acquired,” Clint said as he lifted his drink to his lips. His pinky finger pointed in the direction of the Widow, allowing the others to track her.

“I’ve got her.” Bobbi’s voice came as a laugh, pretending to respond to Bruce’s joke.

Clint kept his focus on the Widow, not only for the mission, but because she was beautiful. The dress was slit just below her hip, revealing one long leg down to her red high heels. If she wasn’t trying to kill Bruce, he might buy her a drink. In fact…

“I have an idea.” Clint motioned to the bartender and ordered a vodkatini, then had it taken over to the Widow by one of the waitresses. She accepted the drink and looked at Clint, raising an eyebrow as he saluted her with his whiskey.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Bobbi hissed in his ear.

“Being bait.”

“Clint,” Bruce’s voice was firm, trying to take control of the moment.

“Too late.” Clint turned to face out over the restaurant, smiling as the Widow glided over and sat next to him.

“Only a foolish man would draw a knife to his side,” the Widow spoke, her accented Russian flowing like silk off her tongue.

Clint shrugged, gazing in her direction. “I’m a risk-taker. Usually works out to my benefit.”

Widow hummed as she sipped her drink. “Killing me in public won’t end well for you,” she stated.

“Same could be said for you.” He shifted his body to fully face her.

“I don’t need to even touch you to kill you.” The Widow smiled, red lipstick the color of blood accenting her smile. “I’m sure your employer gave you all the juicy details of my life.”

Clint nodded. “And I’m sorry for what happened to you.” There was just enough of a twitch in the Widow’s expression that Clint knew he had found a weak spot. “No little girl should have their freedom taken away like yours was.”

“What would you know about that?” she spat, her smile disappearing behind the edge of her drink. “You American heroes and your privilege know nothing about what we do to survive.”

“I know what a survivor looks like.” Clint looked beyond her, images from his childhood flashing through his mind. The phantom headache in his right ear made him wince and reach up to rub it. “I see it in the mirror every day, especially when I put my hearing aids in, or look at the scars across my back. Feel it in my joint during storms, or if someone I can’t see touches me.”

Widow tilted her head, her fingers playing with the little plastic sword holding the olives in her drink. When Clint gave a small shake of his head, pushing the memories away, he looked into her hazel eyes and there was understanding there. Widow held his look a moment longer before looking over at where Bruce, Selina, and Bobbi sat. “My target is a friend of yours, yes?”

Clint nodded. “You could say that.”

“You know what will happen if I do not complete my job.”

He nodded again, knowing what the file said, and certain that it was the light version. “There’s a third option here,” he told her. Clint touched his hearing aid as he heard Bobbi start to object in his ear, cutting off the connection. He felt her glare from across the room and knew he was going to pay for that later.

The Widow chuckled. “You just made your partner mad with that,” she said.

“I know, and I’ll deal with it later. I want to keep this between us.” Clint turned his back to the restaurant, making it impossible for any of them to read his lips. “How about you join us?”

“You mean join your SHIELD who sent you here to kill me?” Widow snorted. “I’m not an idiot. They will just kill me.”

“Not so. I was once like you—a killer for hire. They had a kill order for me, but that Agent saw me for who I really was and took a chance on me.”

“And you wish to do that for me now?” One red eyebrow rose in amusement.

“Paying it forward.” Clint sighed. “They can use someone with your skills and knowledge. You could help make this world a safer place for everyone.”

“How do you know that your SHIELD are really the good guys?”

“I don’t. Which is why I trust my gut instead of blindly following orders.” He held up one hand as he reached into his pocket for his wallet. He saw Widow tense but moved slowly and showed her his wallet. “I’ll give you twenty-four hours, after that, I have my orders. But I really hope you’ll take my offer instead.” He slid a fake business card out of his wallet to give her.

“Frank Wayne.” Her lips curled up in amusement, but she didn’t take the card. Instead, she slid a packet of white powder into his wallet. “You are a foolish one, but I will think about it. But for now, eyes are watching, and I can’t return without at least making a statement.”

Clint saw her leaning in, lifting her hands to wrap around his neck as she kissed him. His eyes widened before closing as he leaned into her lips, responded to the affection subconsciously. Her finger played under his ear, and he started to feel dizzy as she turned his hearing aid back on.

“He has five minutes, my dear. I suggest you come over and help your partner,” Widow whispered into Clint’s ear, then pulled away. He blinked at the Widow as she stood up. Somewhere in the distance, three chairs scraped across the wooden floor.

Placing Clint’s wallet firmly in his hand, she blew a kiss to Clint before making a hasty exit out the front door. Confused, Clint tried to follow her path, but he lost his balance and fell off the stool, the world going dark before he hit the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bobbi has so many words to yell at him. SO MANY.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the deadly kiss, Clint wakes up to a lot of judgment as he defends his choice.

The world was spinning. Someone put him on the gyroscope ride at the circus, and Clint was whipping around, back pressed against the padded wall, unable to scream as the centrifugal force crushed his lungs.

At least that’s how it felt—with an elephant sitting on him after he got off and puked his guts up.

And why did he still make circus analogies a decade after he left the circus?

The room was dim when he first opened his eyes. The room was silent, which meant either he was alone in a soundproof room, or his earing aids were taken out. Neither of those options were optimal, but he could work with it.

Clint tilted his head to examine his body. He was laying on a couch—a really, _really,_ comfortable couch—with his legs propped up and hands folded over his chest. An IV was in one of his hands. His eyes followed the line up and saw one of the SHIELD instant saline bags hanging off a floor lamp.

On the coffee table nearby, he saw his wallet open and rummaged through. Then a small packet with white dust residue and a used needle. His hearing aids were there too, along with his phone and gun.

 _Bobbi is going to yell at me_. It was a certainty, one of the few Clint learned early into their marriage: Clint does something risky and stupid, and Bobbi bites his head off while wrapping him in bandages.

Their relationship was very special.

Closing his eyes, Clint debated not making a sound and going back to sleep so he could avoid the lecture, but there was a hand already threading through his hair and he groaned softly at the touch. The person moved to stand next to the couch, and a moment later Clint felt his hand turned over and his hearing aids placed on his palm.

 _Guess Bobbi isn’t going to wait_ , he thought as he opened his eyes, then jumped when it wasn’t his ex-wife sitting there, but Bruce. Sluggishly, Clint put his hearing aids back in and turned them on.

“How are you feeling?” Bruce asked softly, his hands pulling back into his lap.

“You get the number of that elephant?” Stop, Clint. Just stop.

Bruce shook his head. “What you did tonight was reckless and dangerous. You realize that, right?”

“That’s how I roll.” Clint went to pick at the IV tape, wanting to free himself from the saline leash. “Plus, it was a good kiss.”

“A poisoned kiss,” Bruce pointed out.

“She slipped me the antidote first.”

Clint knew he was getting the “Bat Gaze”, as Dick once called it, so he didn’t look over at the other man. Finally, Bruce sighed and ran a hand along his face. “Why don’t any of you actually take care of yourselves properly?”

“Messed up childhood traumas?” Clint tossed him a smirk. “Which, you know, you’re also a member of this club.”

“I don’t deviate from a plan on a whim,” Bruce stated.

Clint laughed. “Sure, keep telling yourself that, old man.”

“Is that my ex-husband’s voice I hear?” Bobbi stated from just beyond Clint’s feet—socks, as someone had taken off his shoes.

“Sorry, babe.” Maybe if he apologized first, she wouldn’t hit him.

“Sorry? Oh, I know you’re so not sorry.” Bobbi walked into his line of sight, wrapped in a hotel robe, and drying her hair with a towel. “You knew exactly what you were doing, and the fact you left me in the dark is not appreciated.” She continued behind the couch until she was in reach of Clint’s head and slapped him.

“I deserve that,” Clint said, rubbing his jaw. “But you could still hear my end, so you know there’s a chance we can turn her.”

“No, that’s not our job, Clint.” Bobbi crossed her arms. “We have a kill order, and we’re expected to fulfill it.”

“No, we’re expected to adapt to the situation as it develops.” Clint tried to sit up but the dizziness returned and he fell back to the couch. “I’m adapting.”

“You’re falling for a gorgeous redhead,” she stated.

“She’s not my type. I don’t think.” Clint shrugged. “It was only one kiss. I’d need more to go by.”

Bobbi threw her hands in the air. “Damnit, Clint!”

“Bobbi, trust me. I know what I’m doing.” He looked up at her, trying to summon his puppy eyes. “If we could bring the Widow in and turn her, SHIELD will have a great asset because of us.”

“And if she’s playing you like a fool, you’re a dead man.”

Clint nodded, serious now. “That’s why this is my risk. If I screw this up, you need to take the shot.”

“I am not going to watch you die, Clint.” Bobbi’s eyes were daggers. “You do not get to ask that of me!”

“None of us are going to watch him die,” Selina spoke, slinking into the room and sliding up behind Bruce, her arms around his shoulders as she rested her cheek against Bruce’s head. “Nor should we automatically rule out his plan.”

“We’re not?” Clint blinked because someone was actually on his side?

Selina shook her head. “While I’m not always willing to follow the ‘no killing’ bat rule, Clint is right. That woman, this Widow, reminds me of, well, myself. There’s something more to her actions than simply following orders, and it’s worth investigating. If she truly wants to change sides, she should be given the chance.” Selina kissed Bruce’s cheek. “Wouldn’t be the first time a criminal went straight when approached by a smooth-talking Wayne.”

“Barton,” Clint said with a groan. _Mom, Dad, stop with the PDA_.

“Not according to your revised birth certificate.” Selina grinned, and Bruce turned to look at her as well. She gave him a sly grin, moving back a step and shrugging. “What, you’re not the only one who can hack computers.”

A buzzing phone interrupted the rising tension. Bobbi reached for the phone on the coffee table. “Huh, I guess Ric does know you well,” she said to herself before holding out the phone in front of Clint. A text message from Ric waited on the lock screen:

_Just checking in, making sure you haven’t done something stupid. Call when you can._

“Is he okay?” Bruce asked, sitting up.

Clint nodded and slowly stood up. The dizziness didn’t return, and Clint took that as a good sign to remove the IV and tie off the end. “I should call him.”

“You should also take a shower and eat something,” Bobbi said.

“I will. Let me get some fresh air first.” Clint took his phone, padded across the room, and opened the balcony door. When the door was closed, he leaned over the balcony’s edge and called Ric.

He answered in two rings. “Hey, what’s going on?”

“Kicking ass and taking names,” Clint snorted. He listened to the sounds on Ric’s end, he quickly deduced that Ric was at the bar. “You causing Bea problems?”

“Nope.” The sound of pool balls hitting one another punctuated his sentence. “Lenny, on the other hand, might have a problem if I sink these last two.”

“Aw, be nice to Lenny. He sponsors me when I hustle tourists at darts.”

Ric laughed. “Hey, Lenny, Clint sends his love,” he shouted away from the phone, to where he assumed Lenny was.

“How’s the haven?”

“Same as always.”

“Running with the same posse?”

“Mostly, when I’m not busy. You behaving yourself?”

“Never.” Clint chuckled and turned to lean against the balcony railing, his eyes watching the others in the main room. “I’m going against orders, however.”

“This is my shocked voice,” Ric stated, his voice not changing at all. “Wayne’s still alive, right?”

Clint looked at Bruce, who stared back in return. Clint waved. “Yup. Though his girlfriend kicked my ass in a back alley.”

Ric laughed. “I hope Bobbi got pictures.”

“God I never should have introduced you two,” Clint groaned, letting his head fall back. He was smiling, enjoying the moment of familiar banter as a reprieve from the tension inside.

“But seriously, Clint, you’re okay, right?” Ric’s tone lowered; the concern evident in his voice. “

“I’ll be fine,” Clint told him.

“The way you say that indicates you’re not fine currently.”

Clint chuckled. “You and your stupid empathy.”

“Clint, what’s wrong?”

Sighing, Clint rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “You ever have a gut feeling about something you know is right, even if it goes against orders?”

“You’re talking to a guy who used to run around in a skintight bodysuit hitting people with sticks.”

“I’m talking to a guy who still does that.”

“No, I wear better padding now, from what I see the ‘Wings wearing.” Ric laughed. The tone was infectious, teasing a smile onto Clint’s lips from thousand of miles away. “But I’m pretty sure I’ve done that once or twice. My dad always told me to follow my gut when it came to letting go of the bar and flying.”

Clint nodded, lifting his head to see Bruce at the balcony doors watching him intensely. “Your dad was a good man, but your mom was a better cook.”

Ric snorted. “They spoiled you every winter, you know that, right?”

“Oh, I do, and I appreciated every second of it.”

There was a moment of silence, then Ric sighed. “You’re a good man, Clint, and you wouldn’t have been given the job if your boss didn’t want you there. So, whatever your gut tells you to do, do it.”

“Thanks. Well, I should get going.”

“Be safe and remember to bring me home something French.”

“I will. Night.” Clint hung up and closed his eyes while slipping his phone into his pocket. He heard the balcony door open and felt Bruce’s presence next to him. “Please don’t give me a lecture right now,” Clint begged, exhaustion seeping in.

Bruce stayed silent a minute longer, just long enough for Clint to relax his shoulders, before speaking. “What you did was stupid,” he started, and Clint’s head slumped forward, “but… you took the option that will avoid death, if successful. You made the right choice.”

“I was a stupid kid,” Clint said softly. “I didn’t think about consequences before SHIELD; back then it was the thrill of the chase, the adrenaline rush, and the big paydays.”

“And now?”

“When I stare down a scope, I remember what it was like on the other side.” Clint looked up at Bruce. “Coulson could have killed me in the blink of an eye—he’d be in the right to. But he took a chance on me. He knew there was more in me. So, I make sure that with every kill order I get, I make sure there isn’t a path of redemption before I take aim. Most of the time there isn’t, but when there is… I’m always right, and Coulson is proud of me.” Clint took a deep breath. “First time anyone’s ever said they were proud of me.”

Bruce blinked, examining Clint’s face closely. His wayward son looked exhausted, and it wasn’t just from the events of the day. It was an exhaustion of the soul, and Bruce knew he wasn’t the exact cause of it, but he was a part of that weight. “Clint…”

Clint pushed himself up and held up a hand. “It’s fine, Bruce. I was already a fuckup before you adopted me. Pretty sure there was nothing you could have done to change that if Dick and I had stayed.”

Bruce was about to interrupt him, but Clint went to open the door. “I’m going to grab a shower and some sleep. See you in the morning?”

Nodding, Bruce sighed. “Of course. But Clint?”

“Yeah?” Clint looked back at him.

“You’ve grown up to be a good man,” Bruce said, walking forward to put a hand on Clint’s shoulder, “and I’m very proud of you.”

Clint watched Bruce’s face a moment, then huffed with a small smirk. “Thanks… Dad.”

Bruce laughed and ruffled Clint’s hair, making the shorter man complain as they returned to the main room and settled down for the night.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce reflects on the last time he saw Clint and how much has changed since then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience. I will get a new chapter out soon of Teen Hawk Down as well, but that one is going to be a longer story overall linking into all of the current timeline Circus Bros stories. Also, I love reading all your comments and the number of kudos you give. I squeal every time I see a new name in my notifications having discovered the series! <3

Bruce stood in the main room, arms crossed, looking through the closed glass door to the balcony. Last night he stood there, speaking to Clint, his son, telling him how proud he was of Clint. Now, the next morning, he stared at the bare back of the same man and frowned at the litany of scars covering his back and arms.

There were too many, Bruce felt, for someone still as young as Clint. He saw the oldest scars that he remembered on Clint back when he first came to live at the manor. The surgery scars had faded as well. The fresher ones were more akin to puncture wounds—gunshots, stabbings, injuries like that. But two stood out the most to Bruce: the long puncture and slice scars on both his shoulders right next to the rotator cuff tendons.

The two scars Bruce caused, proving once again to Clint why he didn’t need a father.

_Nine Years Earlier…_

“Drop the sword.”

Batman stepped out of the shadows behind the person holding a samurai sword in the air. The urban ninja stood in black jeans and a black hoodie, the hood up over the back of their head. They were on the smaller side, the sweatshirt hiding the wielder’s body frame. For a moment, Batman thought it was Lady Shiva, but she wouldn’t be caught in clothing that formless.

“You stepped into the wrong alley, Batman,” a growling voice—male—replied.

“I disagree. Now drop your weapon.”

In front of the ninja was a man of Chinese descent, very early twenties, on his knees and leaning away from his attacker. A spilled duffle bag of money and plastic-wrapped brick of white powder was a few feet away against a wall. “This guy is a key player in the drug war here. He supplies the street runners around Gotham High. Kids die because this asshole wants to look like a big man on campus.”

“I’m not going to say it again!” Batman shouted, feeling the batarangs open into his hands.

“Please, no,” the man begged as the ninja lifted the sword an inch higher.

Batman saw the gloved fingers grip the hilt tighter and quickly threw the blades. They embedded into their target, eliciting a howl from the ninja. His sword clattered to the ground as both arms dropped from the injury.

The drug runner got up to run, but Batman shot his grapple at the man, wrapping him in the wire from chest to knee. The man stumbled and fell to the ground, struggling against the carbon fiber cable.

With one down, Batman turned his attention back to the ninja. He was reaching behind, ripping the batarangs out of his body, his cries of pain muffled through gritted teeth. Batman moved before the ninja could get the second one free. He grabbed the front of the hoodie and lifted the man up—he was so light Bruce almost launched him up into the sky—and kicked the sword away from both him and the trussed-up man on the ground. “And who do you work for?” Batman snarled, glaring into the blue eyes behind a black ski mask.

“Like I’d tell you.” The man growled. His hands locked onto Batman’s wrists and he swung his legs up, kicking at Batman’s chest with all his strength. It was enough that Batman lost his grip and the man fell, then cried as he landed on his back, pushing the second batarang deeper into his own back.

Batman bent down and turned the man over. He pulled the batarang out, sliding it away before forcing the man onto his back. “Stay down,” Batman ordered. He pushed back the hoodie and grabbed the mask, yanking it off.

Clint Barton-Wayne stared back at him. He was bleeding from the mouth and nose, the latter one broken at an odd angle. The eighteen-year-old’s face was filled with pure anger as he tried to struggle free. 

“Clint.” There was no change in Batman’s expression as he stared at his son. He couldn’t afford to let himself get emotional while in the streets.

“Don’t act like you’re surprised.” Clint spat.

Batman didn’t say anything because… he didn’t know what to say. He had suspicions that Clint was dabbling in the vigilante lifestyle. The teenager had moved to Titans Tower with Dick two years prior after Bruce “fired” Robin. It was only natural, especially with his skills and spending time with Speedy.

But seeing him as an assassin? It felt like a cold grip on his heart. “You know better. We don’t kill,” Batman stated.

“You don’t kill,” Clint said. “I’m not you, or Dick. I need a way to make money to survive.”

Bruce Wayne had secretly started a trust fund for Clint when he was adopted. Clint, in the eyes of the law, was his heir to Wayne Enterprises. He had hoped the boy would go to college with Dick, find himself, and then they both return to Gotham to establish themselves as adults within the family corporation. But neither did, and Clint wanted nothing to do with the business.

Instead, he left the boys alone to figure it out for themselves. He knew they’d make mistakes, but not like this. Never this. “Does Dick know?”

“Of course not.” Clint’s eyes turned to look down the alley. The man was almost free of the wire, watching them as he stayed silent. “I need to finish my job before he gets away,” Clint growled, trying to push himself up.

Batman kept him down. “No, you’re not. I won’t let you.”

Clint’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t ‘let’ me do anything. I’m not Dick or a Robin. I don’t work for you.”

The movement at Clint’s side caught Batman’s attention a moment too late. Clint didn’t need to look at his target directly—he had the ability to use his peripheral vision unlike anyone Bruce knew. The bloodstained batarang left Clint’s hand and arced through the air, bounced off the brick wall, and embedded itself into the drug runner’s neck, severing the artery. Blood spurted from the wound as the man dropped to his knees.

Batman lifted Clint into the air, slamming the blond man against the alley wall. “Damnit, Clint! What were you thinking?”

Clint blinked, and Batman saw a small spot of blood on the bricks behind Clint’s head. He dropped his son, taking a step back while Clint struggled to sit back up. “I did what I came here to do.” He was panting, obviously in pain as he reached out for his ski mask.

“I should drag you to Arkham for that,” Batman growled.

Clint laughed. “But you won’t.” He spat blood onto the ground before looking up at Batman. The blue eyes were foggy—concussion, Bruce guessed—but still narrowed in anger. “You do that, you have to explain how Bruce Wayne’s secretly adopted son murdered a criminal in Crime Alley.”

Batman’s lips pursed. “Get the hell out of Gotham, Clint,” he finally said, turning his back on his son. “And don’t ever come back. If you do, you’ll _wish_ it was Arkham that I’ll send you too.”

“Promises, promises.” Clint slid the ski mask back on and grabbed his sword. “But don’t worry. I never wanted to come here in the first place, and now you don’t have to feel burdened with me any longer.”

Batman didn’t answer, just shot his rappel gun into the air and let it lift him away. His last look of his son was him approaching the dead man and snapping a photo of him on a miniature camera.

_Now…_

It was Selina’s arms wrapping around his waist that pulled Bruce out of his memories. “Like father, like son.” Selina was staring at Clint’s back while kissing Bruce’s neck. “You gonna say goodbye to him?”

“Breakfast is almost here,” Bobbi called out from the kitchenette. “Can someone get Clint?”

“I guess so,” Bruce said to Selina, sliding out of her embrace and heading to the balcony door. He knocked first, but there was no response from the other man. Walking out, Bruce realized why: Clint wasn’t wearing his hearing aids.

He tapped Clint’s shoulder while moving into the edge of the other man’s vision. Clint barely flinched, not moving beyond turning his head to face Bruce. “Morning.”

 _Morning. Bobbi ordered breakfast,_ Bruce signed, then smiled as Clint’s eyes widened in shock.

“When did you learn sign language?”

 _A few years ago. Dick and Alfred taught the rest of us after I adopted Cassandra._ Bruce paused for a moment. _You have a sister now._

“Of course, I do.” Clint chuckled and look back at the sunrise. “You do realize you have a bad habit of adopting screwed-up orphans, right?”

_Don’t forget, I’m also a screwed-up orphan._

“Right.” Clint looked into his empty cup, then pushed away from the balcony ledge. “So, breakfast?”

Bruce nodded and they made their way to the kitchen. Clint scanned the room and stopped when he saw suitcases by the door. “We’re leaving?” he asked, looking over a Bobbi.

“No, we are.” Bruce made sure he was facing Clint so the man could read his lips this time. “We’re taking advantage of this cease-fire to get out of the country.”

Clint watched Bruce’s face carefully, then walked past him into the kitchen. He scooped up his hearing aids and slid them in, then refilled his coffee in silence. Bobbi stayed in her spot, and Selina stood next to her, warming her hands on her cup of tea.

“Clint…” Bruce started, but Clint lowered his head and shook it.

“I get it. You don’t agree with what I do, and you don’t want to witness it.” He sighed, then sipped his coffee before turning back to face the room.

“That’s not it.” Selina shifted to get Clint’s attention. “This is my idea. No offense, kiddo, but she almost killed you. We’re in a spot that we can slip away unnoticed while you finish your job. If it goes bad, she won’t be able to tell her handler where we’re going.”

“Where are you going?” Bobbi asked.

“It’s better if neither of you knows.” Bruce moved closer to his son. “That way…”

“…if we’re tortured, we don’t have the answer.” Clint nodded, then looked at Bobbi. “It’s a smart play.”

“The room is paid up for the week,” Selina said. “You both are welcome to stay here and use it.” She winked at Bobbi, who blushed and looked away with a smile.

Clint watched them, then groaned. “You heard us.”

“The whole floor probably heard you both ‘making up’,” Selina teased.

Bruce rolled his eyes. “We’re going to miss our train.”

“Yes.” Selina walked around the island and wrapped her arms around Clint, kissing his cheek. “It was good to see you again, Clinton. I expect to see you more often in Gotham?” She moved on to hug Bobbi before making her way to the suitcases.

“If I’m allowed back yet,” Clint muttered, looking over the top of his coffee cup as he took a drink.

Bruce nodded. “Right now, there’s the situation in Gotham with Bane that I’m trying to solve. I’d rather you stay out of it. But when it’s over, Alfred would be very happy to see you again.”

Clint looked at Bobbi. “That’s code for yes, come home, I think…”

Bobbi smiled. “I might go with you. After everything you’ve told me about Alfred, I’m sure he and I would get along fabulously.”

“We would be happy to have you both.” Bruce shook Bobbi’s hand, then stood in front of Clint. “But you need to come out of this mission first to do that. Got it?”

There was a hint of a smirk on Clint’s lips. “Yes sir.”

With a nod, Bruce joined Selina and they left the room.

When they were gone, Clint took a deep breath and sighed. “So that happened.”

Bobbi moved to his side, snuggling into his side as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Time has a way of changing things. You can finally go home.”

“Gotham isn’t my home,” Clint pointed out. “The closest thing I got to a home was the Grayson’s wagon, and there’s no going back to that.”

“You say that, but it’s the only place you ever really talked about after we got married.” Bobbi kissed his cheek and went to check the meal that room service had delivered. “What did you even do that got you barred from the city.”

“My job.” Clint followed her, slipping his arms around her waist from behind and kissed her shoulder. “You don’t really think they heard us, do you?”

“Seeing that I heard them first…” Bobbi smirked, turning in his arms to face him. “At least it made the point that you weren’t hurt that badly.”

“You always know how to make me feel better.” Clint smiled as he pressed his lips to hers.

Bobbi pressed him backward and he felt the back of his knees hit the couch. “I hope you like your eggs cold,” she said, then pushed him back onto the couch before sliding her robe off.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time's up. The Black Widow makes her choice, leading to an airborne fight of their lives to escape France.

Clint had written the address of a café on the back of his business card. It was exactly 24 hours after he had shared that lethal kiss with the Black Widow. Now it was "do or die" time. He sipped on his third coffee while waiting at an outdoor table, taking another glance in the window’s reflection at his dark hair. “We’re bleaching this the moment we get back to the helicarrier,” he told Bobbi.

Bobbi smiled, lifting only her eyes from the magazine she was reading. “I kinda like it dark,” she said.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” She turned a page. “You looked a bit too much like Captain America before. Plus, it’ll be good to have different hair colors between our work and your new life with Ric.”

Clint ran his fingers through his hair. “You make a fair point.”

“I happen to think the blonde looked better.”

Bobbi and Clint tried not to jump as the Widow turned to face them from the next table. Neither of them heard her approach. She smiled at them both, her eyes hidden behind Channel shades and her hair held down with a scarf to hide the red shade. “But I also have a soft spot for dark-haired men, myself.”

“Good to know.” Clint shifted to face her properly. “So, you make a decision?”

“Right to the point. I like that.” Widow put her purse on the table and slid it across to them. “I killed the handler earlier so he couldn’t report me. In the bag is everything I pulled from him, as well as the hard drives from his laptop.”

“And your weapons?” Bobbi reached for the bag and ran her cellphone along it, checking for explosives.

“Tossed in the river, along with my lipstick.” Widow leaned back in her seat with a sigh. “Not that I need a weapon to kill either of you.”

Bobbi stared at her while Clint chuckled. “As much as I think dying between your thighs would be a good way to go, I’d prefer not to.” He winced as Bobbi kicked him under the table.

“I believe I am now in your custody, yes?” Widow asked.

“You are.” Bobbi finished her bomb scan and looked in the purse. It was full of electronic devices, hard drives, and USB sticks. “We’re good here.”

“Then I think it’s time for us to catch a ride. Would either of you like something to go?” Clint stood, finishing his coffee.

“My usual,” Bobbi said.

“Black tea with honey,” Widow added.

Clint nodded and got up, heading into the coffee house. Bobbi stood, putting the purse on her shoulder. “He’ll meet us in the market.”

Bobbi didn’t put restraints on Widow as they both knew she would get out of them easily. Instead, they acted as two friends going shopping among the booths at the open market. Clint wasn’t far behind, carrying a holder with two drinks, the third in his free hand. He joined them, and once the drinks were passed out, he led them to where their shuttle had been parked in camouflage mode for the last week—a rooftop of a building in the middle of renovations.

“I’ll start her up,” Clint stated, heading for the cockpit. Bobbi showed the Widow to a seat and secured her into the restraints. Their bags were already loaded onto the ship, sitting in a corner under crash webbing.

As the engines started, a beeping noise made itself know on the console. Clint leaned over to look and his eyes widened. “We’ve got incoming, hot and fast.”

“What?!” Bobbi looked at the Widow, who just shook her head and shrugged.

“Multiple contacts approaching from both air and ground.” Clint’s fingers were flipping switches, willing the ramp to close faster. “Bobbi, I need you up here!”

Bobbi ran into the cockpit, sliding her headset on as she brought up the weapons systems. “I got them,” she said, getting the underbelly gun aimed to where the black-clad insurgents jumped from approaching helicopters, the smoke trails of jetpacks tracing lines behind them.

Three landed on the nose of the shuttle, aiming lasers at the windshield. Clint grit his teeth and jerks the yoke hard, making the shuttle lurch sideways as it rose into the air. Two were thrown off, but the third held on and aimed again.

A gunshot from behind him startled Clint, and he watched as a neat hole appeared in the windshield as the soldier’s head jerked back and the body slid off the ship, leaving a bloody trail behind on the metal.

The Black Widow held a pistol easily in both hands, eyes drifting from her target to Clint. “I don’t plan on dying without a fight.”

He was about to respond when one of the helicopters opened fire. Bullets shattered the windshield as all three ducked to avoid flying glass. Bobbi rose her head up first, holding her shoulder in pain while blood blossomed under her fingers.

“You okay, babe?” Clint shouted over the sounds of the engine and wind buffeting into the ship.

 _Yes_ , she signed, and Clint knew Bobbi knew he couldn’t hear anything through all the background noise. _In and out._

“Good.” Clint rose the shuttle higher, and let Bobbi handle the weapons system with one arm. He turned to Widow. “Can you fly something like this?” he shouted.

“Yes!” she replied, or that was what Clint hoped her lips said.

“Take over!” He shifted to let Widow into the pilot’s chair, handing her the headphones before heading for the back. She shouted something, but now that his ears were exposed to the wing, he couldn’t hear anything. He reached up to turn them off, glad for the silence that followed.

Clint pulled his quiver and bow free from their gear. Walking to the ramp, he took a harness line connected to the ship’s wall and attached the other end around his waist. He slapped the button next to the ramp, and it lowered. He felt the wind behind him trying to push him out, but he braced himself against the ramp’s support railing.

He queued up the explosive arrowheads and pulled the first one out, aiming for the first helicopter. It took him a moment to focus, the math for the distance, speed, and wind calculating itself in the back of his head. Clint was a math and physics genius—one of the sharpest that Nick Fury had ever seen (or at least that’s what he told Clint). He barely obtained a high school education on anything else, but this was always something he could just see.

“Turn her ten degrees west!” Clint shouted to the cockpit, his eyes never leaving the target as he pulled the string back to his ear. The shuttle started to shift, and when he had the shot, he took in a deep breath, settled the arrow into the groove, and released it while exhaling.

The arrow hit just below where the engine would be, the tip embedding itself into the metal.

_Tick Tick Boom._

The explosion enveloped the front half of the helicopter and it dipped sharply to the left before aiming its nose straight down. Clint shifted, his eyes already scanning for the next target. An explosion from the front shook the shuttle, and he assumed that Bobbi had shot down the second helicopter.

All that was left for Clint to shoot down were the jetpack soldiers and the few on roofs with missile launchers. He let himself fall into a groove: inhale, aim, exhale, release. The arrows flew, their targets not intended to injure but to kill. If the jetpackers didn’t die from his shot, they would have a more painful death in their fall, so it was a small token of mercy Clint could provide.

When he believed all targets were down, he was surprised as two boots swung over the top lip of the ramp entrance and connected with his face. He stumbled back into the shuttle as a soldier jumped onto the ramp and let the jetpack fall off him into the open air. The soldier charged, throwing Clint into the side of the shuttle and then bury his fist in Clint’s gut.

If either Bobbi or Widow realized what happened, Clint didn’t know. His vision was filled with floating black dots as he worked to recover his breath. The glint of metal appeared in the edge of his vision and Clint turned, managing to block the arm with a hunting knife aimed at his chest.

He exchanged blows with the soldier, trying to keep the insurgent away from the cockpit. Getting a full breath was hard, and Clint knew the shuttle was reaching an altitude that he was going to need to get air masks for them all. His bow had snapped when he swung it like a club at the soldier’s head, but he felt pride at the three arrows sticking out of the soldier’s ribs.

The soldier charged again, and Clint shifted to the side so that the man would slam into the side of the shuttle. Instead, the soldier shifted at the last minute and grabbed Clint by the arm. Before Clint could blink, his arm was twisted behind his back and he was on his knees. A second later, the soldier kicked at Clint’s arm and Clint screamed as his shoulder dislocated.

The soldier let Clint fall onto the shuttle’s ground as he pulled a gun from his belt. If he was talking, Clint couldn’t tell through the pain. His working hand searched through the bottom of his quiver for the right arrowhead and pulled it out. As the soldier squeezed the trigger, Clint threw the explosive arrowhead at the gun. It embedded in the gun barrel, which exploded just as the gun fired.

The soldier fell back, clutching the stub of his arm even as his jacket caught on fire. Between them were pieces of gun mixed with burning fingers. Clint crawled to his gear bag and pulled out a gun, shooting the flaming man until he lay still in a smoldering heap.

The air continued to thin, so Clint dug through the shuttle supplies until he found two oxygen masks. He crawled up to the front, his chest tight as he used the back of the pilot’s chair to stand up. “Here,” he said, putting the mask over Widow’s face with one hand. She was struggling to keep control of the shuttle but used one hand to tighten to mask to her face as Clint held it in place.

He shifted to lean against Bobbi’s seat, pushing the mask to her face. “No, you,” he thought her lips said. Clint shook his head and pressed it firmly to her face, summoning a stern look until she relented and put the mask on.

Clint slid to the floor, pressing his back against the side of Bobbi’s seat. He pulled his dislocated arm into his lap, gritting his teeth through the pain, and then leaned his head back. “I can’t hear either of you, but I’m just going to pass out here for a bit. Sorry about the mess.”

He felt Bobbi’s hand caress his cheek, but as he pressed back against it, the black dots and thin air finally had their way and he passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost at the end of this fic! Just one more chapter to wrap it up and bring Clint back home to his BFF.


	9. Chapter 9

Nick Fury waited patiently as the shuttle landed on the helicarrier. They were on the Atlantic Ocean, a pod of whales jumping in the air not far off starboard. He knew Agent Coulson was watching them in fascination, but his sole focus was on the broken ramp still open as it touched down.

A medical team was already on standby after Agent Morse had called in the airborne assault. As the shuttle’s engines turned off, two medical officers ran inside. Fury already knew their conditions, so he continued to wait.

Five minutes later, his two agents made their way down the ramp, each with a medic at their side. Morse was wearing an oxygen mask with a small canister of air attached to it. The redheaded assassin on her other side had a similar one. Except for the dried blood he spotted on their faces and necks, the women looked fine.

Barton, his walking-disaster of an agent, was far from fine. He also wore a mask, but then it was connected to an oxygen tank strapped to the medic’s back. The medic was helping Clint, one arm slung over their shoulder as Clint leaned hard into him. Fury counted at least four slash wounds that were temporarily bandaged, and Clint’s other arm was being held in a sling made from crash webbing. His nose was broken under the mask, and a litany of bruises covered his arms—and one dark bruise that made up his neck.

There were days that Fury wondered just how Barton had survived so long. He knew the man’s background, how many times he had seen the brink of death only to come back stronger from it.

Fury feared the day Barton’s luck ran out.

“Agent Barton,” Fury said, hoping his agent was at a point of comprehension. He relaxed as Clint lifted his head and clouded blue eyes met his and held up a hand as Clint tried to stand at attention. “Remind me what your mission parameters were again?”

“Prevent the assass--” Morse started, but Fury gave her a look and she went quiet.

“You wanted us to keep someone from killing Bruce Wayne,” Barton said, a tired slur to his voice. Even hypoxiated, Barton continued to stay in control.

“And what were you to do in regards to the Black Widow should she make an attempt on his life?” Fury saw the Widow tense, standing taller and her eyes darting around to look for a weapon. He noted that the Widow was not in any restraints.

“You gave us a kill order for her,” Barton said.

“Then why is she standing here on my ship unrestrained?” Fury rose his voice, putting a touch of anger in it. Behind him, Coulson was already ordering soldiers to fan out and someone to bring him a pair of handcuffs.

“Because she wasn’t a threat,” Barton stated. The battered agent stood up at his full height, pushing away the pain as his eyes cleared.

“I gave you an order, agent.” Fury pulled his handgun and aimed at the Widow. Morse moved to step between them. Curious.

“You did, sir. But in the field, you also trust me to deviate from the mission when it goes sideways.” Barton groaned and the medic went back to supporting him. “The Black Widow wasn’t a threat—she was only doing what was told.”

“And how could you know that, son?”

“She had multiple opportunities to kill Wayne, or myself, that she didn’t take. She could have killed me in the alley on our first encounter or doubled back to kill Wayne while I was engaged with Ms. Kyle. She didn’t.” Barton coughed, taking a deep breath. “Our second encounter ended with her walking away after making a distraction.”

“This distraction being the attempted poisoning?” Fury asked, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Yes. She made sure I had the antidote and told Bobbi about it before she poisoned me. She could have easily killed Wayne in the confusion, or during the evening while I was incapacitated.” Barton paused for another few breaths. “She surrendered herself willingly when I offered her a chance to become an operative with S.H.I.E.L.D., like the offer Coulson gave me. She then proceeded to aid us when her handlers attacked us and flew us to safety.” Barton looked over at the Widow and nodded. “I went with my gut, and I stand by it, sir. I’ll take full responsibility for her and anything she does while here.”

“Damn right you will.” Fury couldn’t let his agents know how pleased he was at Barton’s assessment. From the moment Coulson dumped the tiny assassin on S.H.I.E.L.D.’s doorstep, Barton continued to surpass every expectation. Whether he knew it or not, Barton was one of the smartest men he’d ever met, and if he continued on this path, Fury would be giving the agent his own team.

As long as he survived it all.

But he didn’t tell Barton any of this. Instead, he turned to Coulson. “Take our guest here to an interrogation chamber and I’ll let my own gut do some evaluating.” Coulson nodded and gently took the Widow’s arm to lead her away. She gave a final look over her shoulder at Barton, who nodded and gave her a weak smile.

“As for you two,” Fury said, turning back to his agents. “Morse, get yourself cleaned up and meet Agent Hill for debriefing. Barton, report to the medical bay and STAY THERE. Agent Hill will debrief you once the doctors approve it.”

“Yes, sir.” Morse and Barton said, and the two medics led his agents inside.

Fury took a deep breath and looked up at the sky. _Just one day, I’d like to go without Barton getting into trouble. Just one._

It wasn’t until two days later that Clint could walk to the detention center. He needed a cane to keep his balance with one ankle in a walking boot, his bad arm in a sling while the shoulder continued to heal, and he looked like a walking bruise, but he needed to get out of the medical bay. Even if he hadn’t waited for medical clearance or permission to leave, he felt good enough to take the stroll across the ship—well, drugged up enough to not feel all the pain of walking across the ship.

He found the Black Widow—Natasha now, he reminded himself—in one of the better accommodations in the center. Her room looked like a 3-star level hotel room with a private, enclosed bathroom, a television, and a small bookcase. There was even a skylight over the bed, giving some natural light as well as a way to look at the stars on a clear night.

Clint used to have a room like this when he was first brought to S.H.I.E.L.D. and it wasn’t too bad once you learned to ignore the entire bulletproof plexiglass wall along the hallway. He stood in front of it now, looking in at the redhead woman in a standard uniform jumper spread across the bed and reading a field agent training manual. “Coulson works fast on getting you into training,” Clint said, leaning with his good shoulder on the glass.

Natasha looked up, then lithely rolled off the bed and to her feet. “You aren’t supposed to be here, are you?”

“Probably not. I think they wanted me to have a week of bed rest or something, but there wasn’t a calendar in the room to know how much time passed.” Clint flashed her a smile and Natasha returned it. She leaned on the wall opposite him so that it made their sightline appear like there wasn’t a wall between them.

“You’re trouble. I’ve been listening to people when they escort me places, and a lot of the other agents talk about you being a rebel, difficult to work with, or a complete idiot.”

Clint laughed. “Good to see my disinformation project is still in full effect. I’m not really a big people person. At least not with the people here.”

“I’ve also heard that you’ve slept with pretty much everyone in your strike force.”

Clint looked appalled. “I have not slept with everyone.” Natasha gave him a look. “Okay, but only, like maybe seventy percent.”

“Your director thinks very highly of you, though,” Natasha continued. “When he was berating you, he was also proud of your choices. I have seen that look many times from men yelling at me. I know.”

“I appreciate that.” Clint shifted his weight off his sprained ankle. “I’m leaving the ship tomorrow and just wanted to make sure they were treating you well.”

“Your agency treats their prisoners better than my country treats their operatives.” Natasha shrugged. “Agent Coulson seems to be a fan of my work.”

“Not surprised. Coulson’s a bit of a fanboy, but he’s deadly when people cross him and you’re lucky if you get him as your handler.”

“I did,” Natasha confirmed. “Director Fury said that since I was your responsibility, it was best to keep the destruction contained.”

“Aw, he likes you,” Clint said with a grin.

Natasha smiled and shook her head. “You are insufferably adorable. I see why your ex-wife still loves you.”

Clint’s smile grew and he pulled a card from his arm sling. “Listen, since out on leave for awhile still, if you need anything or have questions, call me. Don’t think you’re a bother, I’d rather you ask than risk getting in trouble.”

“Why are you so invested in this?” She took the card that Clint slipped through the delivery slot in the window. “It can’t be just because Coulson brought you into S.H.I.E.L.D. in a similar manner.”

Clint licked his lips. “I didn’t have a good childhood. I bounced from one abusive situation to the next, and almost died. Instead, I was rescued, then threw his generosity back into his face by becoming a killer myself. It was all I knew—to hurt others so you didn’t get hurt yourself. And I was good at it, even though it cost me everything.”

“Bruce Wayne—is he the abuser, or the savior?”

“He’s my father,” Clint stated. Natasha stood up a bit, her eyes narrowing in confusion. “He adopted me when I was on death’s door. He helped fix my body, but I was already too broken to even thank him for it. I was just waiting for him to turn the other cheek.”

“Did he?”

Clint shook his head. “He was the first one I hurt.” He looked down at his feet.

Natasha nodded, understanding settling in. “I was raised to be a killer. I excelled at my work, but I wanted to be a ballerina. I tried to leave, and when they caught me, they broke my feet. I’m still graceful, but I can’t go on point anymore. No ballet career for me. Sometimes, when I kill, I imagine the man who tortured me under me and pretend to kill him for destroying that part of me.”

“So we’re just a matching pair of perfectly normal people,” Clint quipped, and Natasha smiled.

“Thank you, Clint.” She pressed her hand on the glass where his cheek was. “I won’t disappoint you.”

“I doubt you could.” Clint pushed himself to stand fully. “You have my number, so if you just need a friend to talk to, call. I’ll be there.”

As Clint opened the door to the apartment part of his and Ric’s warehouse, he could hear giggling from the couch. Lowering his travel bag to the floor beside the kitchen island, he quietly turned and closed the back door, then limped to the couch.

The TV was mounted to the wall and some movie was playing, but the real action was between Ric and Bea making out. Ric was shirtless and hovering over Bea, their lips connected in hungry passion. Bea was just in her bra, her fingers sliding down Ric’s abs and starting to undo his belt.

“I didn’t know tonight was movie night!” Clint spoke, and he watched as Ric nearly jumped onto the ceiling from shock. Instead, he fell off the couch, his hands already looking for a weapon before he realized who was speaking.

“Damnit Clint, you scared the bejeezus out of me…” Ric’s eyes took in Clint’s bruised and battered form. “What the hell happened to you?”

Bea, pulling her shirt back on, also took Clint in. “Oh my—Clint, sit your ass down.” She stood up and all but forced Clint to sit on the couch they had just occupied.

Clint chuckled. “Don’t worry about me. You should see the other guy. Or what’s left of him.”

“Oh lordy, you two and your superhero lifestyles.” Bea moved to the kitchen to turn on the coffee maker.

Ric sat on the coffee table across from Clint, shaking his head. “I take it you did something stupid after all.”

“Yes… but all this isn’t a result of that moment.” He smiled. “This was me being a hero.”

“And I guess you can’t tell me anything about it, can you?”

“Nope. Completely classified.” Bea returned with a cup of coffee, handing it to Clint carefully. “All I can tell you is that I saved the day and that no one died.”

“Sounds like a successful job then,” Bea said as Clint took a sip of coffee and moaned in happiness. “If you need to rest, Ric and I can go to my place…”

“Nah, you two go have fun in the bedroom. I’m good right here.” Clint slowly lifted his legs to rest on the coffee table next to Ric.

“You sure?” Ric asked.

“Yup. I’m just happy to be home. We can talk more tomorrow over pancakes.”

Ric chuckled and stood up, holding a hand to Bea. “See you in the morning then.”

They left, and Clint grabbed the remote and started to change stations. Once he had something playing that would drown out anything coming from the other half of the warehouse, he settled deeper into the cushions. He looked around the building while taking a long sip of coffee.

_Well, it may not be a wagon, but it’s nice to be home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap. Time to let Clint heal up a bit before the next bad guy arrives in town. Hope you enjoyed this and please, kudos and comments are loved and appreciated. Please be safe and good to each other. <3


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